


Some Enchanted Evening

by roboticonography



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Date, F/M, First Dates, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: Peggy's friend sets her up on a blind date with a guy called Steve, who isn't exactly what she was expecting.





	Some Enchanted Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for Steggy Secret Santa 2018.

Peggy didn’t keep in touch with many of the girls she’d met at school, but Annalise Harris was one such rare specimen.

Peggy and Lise had been partners in crime for the entirety of their confinement at St. Martin-in-the-Fields School for Girls. Afterwards, they’d been delighted to find themselves rooming in the same dorm at Shrewsbury College, where their joint escapades had been the stuff of legend.

After breezing her way through her studies and nabbing a First, Lise had left for America, determined to eke out a career as a screenwriter. She’d quickly fallen in with a bohemian crowd, practicing the twin doctrines of poetics and free love. Her irregular but amusing correspondence always included a postscript inviting Peggy to look her up if she ever happened to be in New York.

Reunited with Lise at last, Peggy found her not very much changed: the same dazzling beauty and sparkling wit. Peggy, by contrast, felt faded and dull, as though she’d had her colour stripped and her sharp corners knocked off by the daily grind of war. She had a difficult time keeping up with her friend as the conversation ran to popular novels and picture-shows. Peggy couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down and read a book for pleasure; the idea seemed almost indecently luxurious.

“I’ve rounded up a couple of boys to take us dancing tonight,” Lise announced, midway through their coffee.

Peggy groaned feelingly. “Must we?”

“Don’t be a wet blanket.” Lise lit up a fresh cigarette. “It’s just what you need. It’s been ages since you had any fun. I can tell.”

“They’re not soldiers, I hope?” Peggy had been purposely vague about the work she was in town to do, giving Lise the impression that she was a secretary to an army colonel. It wouldn’t do for her to meet someone who wound up being recruited for Project Rebirth.

“Well, mine is. He’s shipping out soon, so I don’t plan to get too attached. Yours is an ad man, or something.”

That sounded safe enough. “What’s he like?”

“I haven’t actually met him, but Bucky said—”

“‘Bucky’?” echoed Peggy, incredulously. “What sort of a name is _Bucky_?”

Lise exhaled smoke impatiently. “Bucky said,” she repeated, “that his friend is heaps of fun. And _he’s_ heaps of fun, _and_ full to the brim of sex appeal, so I trust his judgement. I’ve discovered that handsome men tend to travel in flocks here.”

“All right. But I hope he’s called something normal. I couldn’t take a man named Bucky seriously.”

“His name is Steve. All completely above-board.”

“Very American,” said Peggy, dubiously.

“Didn’t you used to walk out with a chap called Pinky, once upon a time?”

Peggy laughed. “God, that was ages ago! Trust you to remember.”

Lise tapped her temple. “Like a steel trap, darling.”

Perhaps, Peggy reflected, a night out would be just the thing. “All right.”

*

“I said no,” said Steve.

“Come on.”

“No way.”

“Steve—”

“You gotta stop with this, Buck.” Steve drew himself up to his full height, crossing his arms. “Let me get my own dates.”

“If I did that, you’d never get anywhere,” Bucky pointed out.

“You got a funny way of asking for a favour, pal.”

“Look, she’s got a friend who’s new in town, and she asked if I knew anyone who could make it a double date. You’d be doing her friend a favour, not the other way around.”

Steve was still about fifty percent sure that Bucky was full of shit, but the idea did have some appeal. The friend might be a sort of girl-version of himself—awkward, shy, used to getting rejected. He could almost picture it: two third wheels, rolling along together in quiet harmony.

“Is she nice?” he asked hopefully.

“Nice? Let me tell you, Lise showed me her picture, and I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. She’s a knockout. A dead ringer for Jane Russell.”

Steve’s heart sank. A girl like that was _definitely_ not going to be happy to get stuck with him as her date.

Bucky sighed theatrically. “You’re the only guy I know who could look that disappointed about a date with a sexy dame. I keep telling you, girls like that go for guys worse off than you all the time!”

“Thanks,” said Steve dryly.

“You know what I mean.”

Steve did know what he meant. He also knew, from experience, how this was going to go.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But you’re paying. And I want the money up front.”

“Deal,” said Bucky, and shook Steve’s hand so hard his teeth rattled.

*

Peggy fancied herself in decent shape, overall; however, after walking from her lodgings to the train, from the train to Lise’s flat, and from there to a place where they could hail a taxi, she was definitely feeling the effects of the sultry New York evening.

Lise was one of those maddening women who didn’t seem to perspire, but merely shimmered gently, even in the most extreme conditions. Peggy, on the other hand, could break a sweat reading _Death on the Nile_. She could already feel her face powder melting off, and her hair starting to go limp. To make matters worse, the hastily-repaired seam in the underarm of her dress was threatening to give. She thought it might be all right, as long as her date wasn’t too enthusiastic on the dance floor.

They met up with their dates outside a nightclub called the Royale. Bucky was exactly as described: tall, well-built, and handsome, with a rogue’s grin and a ready hand.

His friend, on the other hand, was nothing like what Peggy had been promised. She’d been expecting a man cast from the same mold, with perhaps a bit more of the snake-oil salesman about him, given that he supposedly worked in advertising. Instead, he was small, quiet, and indifferently dressed. Still, he had lovely blue eyes, and a rich voice that seemed to belie his stature.

Peggy was generally wary of small men. They tended to feel they had more to prove than their larger counterparts, and to make more aggressive advances as a result.

Steve, however, made no advances at all, aside from polite conversation. He wouldn’t go within arm’s reach of her the entire time they waited in line to get into the club. She thought at first that he might simply be shy, but her efforts to draw him out were met with stony silence. She hadn’t expected it to be an instant romance, but Steve seemed almost repelled by her.

Meanwhile, a few steps away, Bucky had his arm slung around Lise’s waist, murmuring something into her ear that made her laugh and elbow him in the ribs.

Peggy wondered what could possibly be so off-putting that Steve wouldn’t even try to hold her hand.

Once they were inside, Steve immediately took off, supposedly to get her a drink, and was gone for ages; in the end, he came back smelling suspiciously of booze, and holding a single empty glass.

“Perhaps I should have been more specific,” she said drolly. “In England, ‘neat’ means ‘no ice’. Not ‘no drink at all’.”

“Sorry,” he ground out sullenly.

She was about to go up to the bar herself when Bucky, demonstrating surprising chivalry, stood her a whiskey.

It turned out Peggy needn’t have feared for the safety of her dress, either. When she suggested they take a turn on the dance floor, Steve didn’t seem overly enthused at the idea.

It was clearer than ever that he’d only come on this date as a favour to his friend, who’d only suggested it in order to make time with _her_ friend. Peggy knew she wasn’t every man’s cup of tea, but that didn’t make her beholden to someone who couldn’t even be arsed to do the bare minimum expected of him.

“Actually, don’t bother,” she said, allowing her annoyance to show for the first time. “I think it’s time we both stopped pretending this date is anything other than charity.”

Steve, who had very expressive eyebrows, looked startled, then irritated, and at last resigned. “That’s fair,” he agreed, slumping into his seat and crossing his arms over his narrow chest.

Peggy knocked back her whiskey, determined not to speak to him anymore if she could help it.

*

Steve knew this much: he was blowing it.

When the girls had turned up to meet them, Steve was blown away. Lise was cute, sure, but Bucky calling Peggy a knockout had been the understatement of the century. She was a stunning brunette, with dark eyes that sparkled, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

And, while her face didn’t look anything like Jane Russell’s, Steve could understand what had prompted Bucky to make that comparison: Peggy had a figure that would not have been out of place on a pinup calendar, and the neckline of her dress would probably not have met the standards of the Hays Code.

On top of which, Bucky had neglected to mention that she was English. She talked like she’d stepped out of a picture show, in a rich, cultured voice, each word crisp and perfect.

She was elegant, and glamorous, and sophisticated… and completely out of Steve’s league.

The heat was making him light-headed, but Steve did his best to make passable small talk while they waited in line. It seemed to go well, at least at first: they agreed that the weather was hot, that the war was terrible, that the music coming from inside the club was decent.

“Bucky said you were a secretary,” he ventured. When she didn’t reply immediately, he prompted, “That must be interesting.”

“Not particularly,” she said shortly. “Unless you find taking someone’s phone messages and typing up his correspondence interesting. In which case, it’s _fascinating_.”

 _Swing and a miss,_ thought Steve, gloomily.

Peggy reached into her handbag and pulled out a cigarette case. She extracted a cigarette, then looked at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he told her, patting his pockets to indicate the absence of a lighter.

Undaunted, she got out a book of matches and struck one.

Steve took a step back, not wanting to breathe in too much smoke—it was already going to be a problem once they got inside, but out here at least there was still plenty of fresh air.

“What about you? Lise said you worked in advertising.”

Steve glared at the back of Bucky’s head. “Sort of.”

“Only sort of?”

“Well, I’m an illustrator. I draw what they tell me. I work in advertising in the same way that the guy selling peanuts at Ebbets Field plays for the Dodgers.”

“Oh, I see. And what would you rather be doing?”

No one had ever asked him that before. He was lucky to have a job at all, with his health being what it was. Everyone just assumed that he was happy to be useful. So he blurted out the first answer that came to mind: “Joining the army.”

She didn’t laugh at him, like he expected she might. Instead, she nodded. “You should. We can use all the help we can get.”

Steve didn’t know what would be worse: her thinking he was a coward, or her thinking he was an invalid. So he kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t bite, you know,” she said, with a pointed glance down at the miles of space between them on the sidewalk.

Steve was glad it was already dark outside; the thought of where Peggy Carter might bite him, were she so inclined, was enough to make him blush furiously. He couldn’t think of anything to say back to her.

She didn’t try to talk to him again after that.

Once they were inside, Steve tried to make up for his faults as a conversationalist by offering to get Peggy a drink. She surprised him by asking for a bourbon, neat.

At the packed bar, he couldn’t seem to get anyone’s attention. After watching the bartender serve two guys who had arrived after he did, Steve began to lose patience.

“Excuse me!” he called.

The bartender—whose name was Rex, according to the tag pinned to his jacket—glanced down at Steve, then ignored him and turned to serve the next fellow who had just walked up.

“Hey!” said Steve. “I’ve been waiting on you for ten minutes. My girl’s getting thirsty.” He had no idea why he said it like that; Peggy was barely his date, and not even remotely his girlfriend.

Rex seemed amused. “What does your girl want to drink?”

“Bourbon, no ice. And I’ll have the same.”

He nodded, continuing to pour other customers’ drinks. “Sure thing, chief. You got a driver’s license I can see?”

Steve flushed angrily. He didn’t have a driver’s license; he hated driving, and had never owned a car. “Give me a break. I’m not a kid.”

“That so, tough guy? You’re about the size of one.”

Steve counted to ten, and reminded himself that getting carried out of the club by his collar was probably not going to make Peggy want a second date with him. He forced a laugh.

“Good one,” he said, trying to sound like a good sport. He put the money for the drinks down on the bar, plus enough for a decent tip. “Two bourbons, please. No ice.”

Rex pocketed the cash, but didn’t pour the drinks. “Driver’s license,” he repeated.

Another guy leaned over Steve and ordered a bourbon. Steve seized his opportunity: the moment Rex set the glass on the bar, he nabbed it. After all, he’d already paid twice what it was worth. He ducked under the other customer’s arm and made his escape—when out of nowhere, a couple leaving the dance floor crashed into him, knocking the drink all down the front of his jacket.

Defeatedly, he trudged back to the table.

Peggy said something funny about the empty glass, but Steve didn’t have it in him to respond in kind. He took off his bourbon-soaked sport coat and draped it over the back of his chair.

Bucky left, returning a few minutes later with an extra whiskey, which he set in front of Peggy. Steve knew Bucky thought he was lending him a hand, but all it did was make Steve feel even more useless. If a bottomless pit had opened up in the middle of the dance floor, at that moment, Steve would have gladly jumped into it.

Bucky and Lise got up to dance again. Peggy watched them, and Steve watched Peggy.

Not for the first time that evening, he wished they could have met under different circumstances. The library, maybe, reaching for the same book; or else, bumping elbows while admiring the same painting at the Met. If it had been something like that, Steve might have had a chance. But it was hard for a fellow to put his best foot forward when he only had two left ones.

“Do you think,” she said, in that gorgeous, careless voice of hers, “that you might ask me to dance sometime this evening?”

Steve was momentarily dumbstruck: he’d shown her, by all accounts, a pretty lousy time, and still she wanted to dance with him?

“I don’t know,” he said, trying to imitate her breezy tone. “Maybe? If they play a slow number.”

All of a sudden, she turned to ice on him—reminding him, pretty plainly, that she was only on this date out of charity.

Which was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine, it was disappointing and humiliating, but Steve had enough self-respect not to try and plead his case with someone who didn’t want any part of him.

When she got up to powder her nose, he seriously considered making a break for it.

*

Peggy eyed her friend in the powder-room mirror. “You can’t be serious,” she said.

“My flatmate’s away for the weekend. This may be my only chance to give Bucky a last hurrah before he ships out.” Lise reapplied her lipstick, smacked her lips at her reflection in apparent satisfaction, and turned to Peggy. “You don’t really mind, do you?”

“I mind a great deal! You’re leaving me here with that dreadful cold fish while you run off to hop into bed with his friend!”

Lise gave a dismissive wave. “You’ll be fine, darling. Look here, I’ll even give you cab fare back to—Brooklyn, was it?”

Peggy said something rather unladylike before turning on her heel and storming out.

*

Steve felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder. “Come on, wise guy,” said a familiar voice above his head. The grip turned bruising, and he felt himself being yanked up out of his seat. “Out you go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spotted Peggy, approaching at a brisk march.

Fantastic.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“You must be the girlfriend,” said Rex. He had Steve under the arms in a Nelson hold, and was dangling him a foot off the ground. “I hope you enjoyed your free bourbon, sweetheart, because your waiter here is about to get the toss.”

Steve squirmed, trying to slip free. “I paid, asshole!”

“Put him down,” said Peggy, lethally cool.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not in the habit of asking for things twice.” She never raised her voice, but her tone was one of unmistakable authority.

“Watch it, lady. That sounded like a threat.”

“Oh, good,” she said pleasantly.

And then she hauled off and socked the guy right in the jaw.

Rex went down like a sack of potatoes—and so did Steve, landing hard on top of him.

Somewhere behind them, a woman screamed. The hum of discussion in the air swelled to an excited buzz. Out on the dance floor, couples collided with one another as everyone tried to get a look at the source of the commotion.

Peggy dragged Steve to his feet. Before he had a chance to thank her, they were making a break for it—but instead of heading for the main entrance, where the bouncer was stationed, she led him through the crowded kitchen and out a service door, ducking behind a delivery van. They squeezed in close as Rex and another guy jogged past, trying to figure out which way they’d gone.

Steve’s heart was racing, his breath coming short and sharp. But he didn’t think the tightness in his chest was all from running; they hadn’t actually gone that far. He suspected the cause might be Peggy’s flushed cheeks and luminous eyes, or the proximity of her mouth to his, or the arm she’d slung carelessly around his shoulders.

“Are you all right?” she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek.

“Swell,” he managed, wheezing. He could feel his shoulders rising and falling with the effort of trying to get air into his lungs.

Peggy rubbed his back briskly, her palm warm through his thin shirt.

“Do you take anything?” she asked. “Asthma cigarettes?”

“They’re in my jacket pocket.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the club.

“Shall I go and collect them for you?”

He shook his head. “It’ll pass in a minute.” Already, he seemed to be loosening up. He couldn’t help noticing that she smelled fantastic: a little like springtime, a little like the ocean.

“My brother had asthma,” she told him. “A very mild case. He’d grown out of it by the time he enlisted. I was rotten to him when we were growing up. I used to catch him unawares, and tickle him until he was almost blue.”

She was still rubbing Steve’s back, more slowly now, in circles.

“I paid for that drink, you know.”

“I believe you.”

“For two drinks, actually. He took the money and then didn’t serve me. So I… helped myself.”

The barest hint of a smile played over her lips. “I’d have done the same.”

“You were amazing back there.” Steve was distantly aware that he was starting to babble. “You knocked that guy flat. I’ve never known a girl who could do that.”

“I certainly hope you haven’t been giving them occasion to try.”

Steve made a hoarse noise that might almost pass for a laugh. “No, never,” he said, honestly.

“I don’t doubt it. You weren’t even willing to try anything on with me, and I was encouraging you with all my might.”

“You—you were?”

She shot him an exasperated look.

“How was I supposed to know?” he protested. “I don’t go out with a lot of girls. And then you said that thing about only being out with me for charity.”

She blinked. “I didn’t mean you. I meant me.”

“You what?”

“Me, the charity case.”

“ _You?!_ ” he exclaimed, forgetting for a second where they were and why.

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

In a whisper, he continued, “You’re the most beautiful dame I ever saw in my whole life. And you’re smart. And tough. _And_ funny. And you talk like a movie star, and—and you smell great.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

Steve figured he may as well go for broke. “Can I take you out again sometime?”

“Because our first date is going so well?”

“Because I like you. Besides,” he added, with a grin, “this is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

He was almost certain she was going to say no. Instead, she gave him an appraising once-over—and then, out of nowhere, she leaned towards him, until their lips were touching.

*

Peggy had no idea what had possessed her to kiss Steve at that exact moment.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had _some_ idea. She was still riding a wave of adrenaline; his flustered confession had melted her reserve; and his lips looked temptingly soft.

However, it was immediately clear that Steve had absolutely no experience kissing a woman. He kept his hands at his sides, and pushed his mouth squarely against hers—forcing her to push back with equal determination, or risk banging her head against the door of the van behind her.

After a few unsatisfying seconds of aggressive mouth pushing, she pulled away. “Ugh,” she said, before she could stop herself.

Steve looked mortified.

“I didn’t mean… look here. Did you enjoy that?”

“I—I’m not sure,” he admitted.

Peggy leaned in again, close and closer still, until they were breathing the same air. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and stroked his smooth cheek until his eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting. Up close, his eyelashes were stunning—dark, full, and enviably long.

When she brushed his mouth with hers, lightly, Steve didn’t move at all. She did it again, and felt him shiver in her grasp. She slid her hand around to the nape of his neck and held him in place, showing him by example how she liked to be kissed: softly, but with confidence. He was a quick study, copying her movements and adding a few delightful improvisations.

When she finally pulled back, both of them were flushed and breathing quickly.

Composing herself, she declared, “Right. Let’s not hang about waiting to get caught.”

*

Mercifully, the evening had turned cool, and there was a refreshing breeze. She took Steve by the arm as they walked to the end of the block, merging into the crowd waiting to get into the Royale.

“Should we wait for them?”

It took Peggy a moment to realize who he meant. “Lise said Bucky was going to see her home.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Typical. He practically begged me to come out tonight—not that I’m not glad he did,” he added hastily.

“So am I,” she assured him, squeezing his arm. “But let’s never speak to either of them again.”

“Deal.” As they crossed the street, Steve said, “I gotta ask. Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?”

“Practice,” said Peggy, evasively. “I could show you sometime, if you like.”

Many men would have been humiliated by the offer, but Steve was gazing at her in starry-eyed admiration. She wondered how she’d missed it before—how she could have mistaken his shyness for disinterest.

“I’ll take a lesson, but I gotta warn you, I may be a lost cause.” He shrugged, trying to seem offhand, but she could tell the admission pained him. “Bucky’s been trying to teach me to fight for years. Our old boxing coach used to say I knew where everyone’s feet were except mine.”

“Boxing is a sport. In real life, your opponents aren’t matched with you according to weight class. You just need to learn the advantages to being smaller. For example, there’s a very easy way to get out of that hold he had you in.” She held up her arms to demonstrate. “Pretend that I’m you. If you were to...”

Steve was looking at her strangely, and blushing. She wondered whether she’d embarrassed him after all.

“What’s the matter?”

“Uh. I think you ripped your dress a little.”

Peggy made the catastrophic mistake of lifting her arm to look.

Steve had a gift for understatement: her quick patch job had given way, and the side of her dress was irreparably split from underarm to waist, her brassiere and girdle on display for the whole world to see. She dropped her arm quickly.

“Wait here,” said Steve, a determined set to his jaw.

Before she could stop him, he’d darted across the street and back into the club.

“Bollocks,” she said under her breath. She didn’t dare chase him, for fear of giving everyone in the street a free show. Instead she crossed at the lights, arm awkwardly pinned to her side, trying to seem casual.

By the time she got to the club’s entrance, Steve had reappeared with a bloody nose and a triumphant look, his jacket balled up under one arm.

Peggy was charmed in spite of herself. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” He grinned, and settled the crumpled sport coat around her shoulders. “I like this jacket. I want to wear it on our next date.”

“Oh, do you? Someone’s rather confident.”

“You’d have told me to get lost by now if you weren’t interested.”

“Fair enough. Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until our next date to get this back. I’d like to avoid being brought up on public indecency charges.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got holes in both my socks.”

“It doesn’t, particularly. But thank you.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your bourbon.”

“You look as though you could do with one yourself. Over plenty of ice.”

“Sorry. Unless I want to walk home tonight, I’m tapped out.”

“I wasn’t hinting, I was offering.” She took his hand. “Come on. I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”

*

Peggy’s brilliant idea turned out to be two drugstore Cokes, a park bench, and a sterling silver hip flask that she produced from her handbag with a magician’s flourish.

She wrapped one of the frosted glass bottles in her handkerchief, and directed him to hold it against his nose while she expertly doctored the other one.

When they’d swapped bottles, she cradled his cheek in her palm, running her thumb over what he supposed was a very impressive bruise. She kissed him once on the cheek, and again on the bridge of his nose—which had finally stopped bleeding, but was still smarting something fierce.

“It’s not what you think,” he admitted. “I ran into a door on the way out.”

She didn’t smile, not quite, but her cheeks dimpled slightly. “I hope you gave as good as you got.”

He nodded, and took a sip of his drink, narrowly managing not to sputter. Peggy Carter liked her cocktails strong.

“Good?”

“Just right,” said Steve, hoarsely.

Peggy took a pull of her Coke, head tipped back, the line of her throat long and elegant. Steve wanted to trace the edges of her cheek and jaw with his fingertips; he was fascinated with the way her face seemed sharp and soft all at once.

She polished off about half the bottle, then gave a sigh of deep satisfaction, her shoulders lifting and falling. It was enough to make Steve want to hand over his own drink, just so he could keep watching her.

When she looked at him again, there were amber lights in her eyes. Not for the first time, he considered how he might paint her portrait, how and where to lay the shadows and highlights on her face.

“May I ask you a personal question, Steve?”

“Shoot.”

“Why haven’t you enlisted?”

“I tried,” he admitted. “Actually, I tried a few times. I thought the first 4-F might have been a fluke, so I gave the army a couple more chances to take me.”

“That’s illegal.”

He bristled. “I got a right to fight, same as anyone.”

“And to die twice as fast, I suppose, if you want to. But you don’t have the right to risk the lives of others because you’re keen to be a hero.”

Steve felt a hot flush creep up the back of his neck. “I’m asking for a chance, that’s all. I’ve been sick my whole life, and I manage. If I flunk out of basic training, then fine. I’ll pack my bags, count my blessings, and go collect scrap metal.”

Peggy was looking at him very intently.

“I might be able to help you,” she told him. “But you can’t repeat any of this to your friend, or to anyone else.” She dug around in her handbag, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him.

It had a doctor’s name and office address.

Steve’s heart sank.

“I’ve seen plenty of specialists,” he said, trying not to sound too ungrateful. “Been seeing ‘em since I was a kid. There’s nothing they’ve got that I haven’t already tried.”

“No, it isn’t—” She looked embarrassed. “I’m not suggesting you go for a checkup. This doctor, he’s looking for army recruits for a special project, and he has the authority to override a 4-F designation. Tell him Agent Carter sent you.”

“Agent?”

“Mum’s the word,” she reminded him, tapping the side of her nose.

He tucked the card away in his wallet. “Secretary, huh?”

“In the same way that the man selling the peanuts also plays for the Yankees. Wasn’t that how you put it?”

“The Dodgers,” he corrected. “You don’t want to play for the Yankees.”

“The Yankees have Joe DiMaggio,” she countered, taking a demure sip of her Coke.

Steve did an exaggerated double-take. “A smart, gorgeous dame who loves baseball? I must be dreaming.”

“I don’t love it,” said Peggy. “But I work with a lot of men. I’ve become fluent in the metaphor.”

“Do you like the work?”

A smile broke over her face like a sunrise. “I do. And I’m good at it.”

“I don’t doubt it. I bet you’ve got stories.”

“I have. Some of them rather unpleasant.”

“I’d listen to you read the phone book,” Steve confessed.

“What a shameless flatterer you are.” She gave an imperious little wave. “Carry on.”

He laughed.

“Or, you could kiss me again.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice.

*

It was after midnight by the time Steve hailed Peggy a cab. Not that she needed looking after—especially not by him—but she was a lady, and he wanted to show her he had _some_ manners.

He still didn’t know exactly what she did for work, or what she had to do with the army doctor and his special project. But he got the sense that she might be sticking her neck out for him.

He had a phone number to call, and she’d agreed to go with him to a Dodgers game, just to see what all the fuss was about.

So, after one more quick kiss goodbye, he paid the cab driver to whisk her away, along with his favourite sport coat. Not to mention his heart.

And if the walk home was a little on the chilly side, it was worth it.

*

A few weeks later, Steve was standing in a line at Camp Lehigh. He was the smallest fellow there by at least a foot. His back hurt, his feet hurt, his hands hurt, and his helmet was giving him a crick in his neck. And it was only the first day.

The guys on either side of him were chatting over his head. It struck him as a little rude, though he wasn’t about to mention the social faux pas.

He was pretty sure that he was the only one not surprised when a woman’s voice called them to attention.

Peggy cut a sharp figure in uniform. Not that Steve had expected anything less. She met his eye briefly before moving on, giving each recruit the same impartial once-over as she introduced herself.

They’d been on four more dates since that night at the Royale. None of them had involved a fistfight, but all of them had included a kiss at the end of the evening. She still didn’t care about baseball, and he was still a lousy dancer, but they had fun all the same.

It was going to be tough to pretend to be strangers, but they’d agreed it would be better if no one knew about them while she was evaluating the candidates. He still didn’t know what the top-secret project was—only that Peggy’s boss, the colonel, was supposed to fill them in on the details.

Some big dope down the row drawled, “What’s with the accent, Queen Victoria?”

Steve watched Peggy square her shoulders, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

This was gonna be _good_.


End file.
